Dad called Winn. Winn called Mom. Mom called Griffin. An hour later, my entire family was crowded around my hospital bed to listen while I recounted the entire ordeal to Winn, my sister-in-law, Quincy’s chief of police.
It had taken me longer to explain how I’d nearly been strangled to death than the actual strangling had taken. That hunter had choked me for less than twenty seconds, yet every time I replayed it in my mind, it felt like he’d had my throat in his grip for an eternity before he’d let me go.
Why had he let me go?
Vance cleared his throat.
I shook myself out of my head. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten lost in my own thoughts today. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He took his wallet from his jeans pocket, rifling through the leather billfold. Then he slipped out an old photograph and handed it over. “Is this him?”
I gulped. My heart climbed into my throat as I reached for the photo, bringing it closer. My hands trembled as I stared at the man who’d almost murdered me.
Red hair. Brown eyes. Scarred face.
He was smiling in the picture. His happiness was jarring, like this had been taken of a different man in a different lifetime. But there was no mistake. It was the motherfucker.
“Yes.”
Vance’s entire frame relaxed, like he’d hoped that would be my answer but had braced himself for disappointment.
The photo’s edges were tattered. Its colors faded. How many times had Vance handed this picture to someone? Or had it been his own fingers that had traced the corners until they were rounded and soft?
“Has he hurt people before?” I asked.
Vance nodded.
I dropped the picture like it was aflame. “You’re here to find him.”
“I am.” His deep, gravelly voice was infused with confidence. That surety was a sharp contrast to the hopelessness I’d felt all day after Winn’s update last night.
After she’d taken my statement at the hospital, she’d sprung into action. Within an hour, she’d issued the APB with the description I’d provided. She’d engaged with the county sheriff’s department, who had activated the search and rescue team to scour the mountains.
My dad and brothers had been part of that effort. Over twenty people and three dogs had combed over the area where I’d been attacked.
They’d stayed out late Friday night, well past dark, and had finally returned to town empty-handed. Yesterday, more of the same. If there was a trail to find, it had been lost.
That asshole had escaped.
Winn would likely be here soon with another update. I didn’t expect a different outcome.
“The local authorities haven’t found him,” I told Vance. “What makes you think you can?” Maybe it was my ragged voice, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever sounded more cynical. Maybe all it took was one horrid experience to crush a person’s positive spirit.
“I’ve been searching for Cormac for years.”
I shuddered. “That’s his name?”
“Cormac Gallagher.” Vance nodded, taking the photo from the table and returning it to his wallet.
“Who are you?” I locked my gaze with his.
I wasn’t the type of person who could spot lies. Trusting people just felt . . . normal. The default. Except I’d immediately given my trust to that man—Cormac—by the river. I’d assumed he was good.
So maybe it was time I learned to spot untruths. To be wary of those who came into this shop, Vance Sutter included.
“I’m a cop from Coeur d’Alene. Cormac is the main suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Oh.”
Cop. Cormac. Murder. My head was spinning.
“Who did he kill?” Was it another innocent woman out for a hike? How many people had he killed? Had they been strangled?
Vance’s gaze flicked to the table. He stayed quiet.
I knew without asking he wouldn’t answer. Was that better or worse than a lie to my face?
Better.
Except Vance still hadn’t answered my previous question. Why did he think he’d have different luck than Winn, the sheriff and a team of people trained to search this area for missing hikers or hunters? People like my dad and brothers who’d lived here their entire lives?
“What makes you so sure you can find him?”
“I’m not sure.” Honesty coated that baritone voice. “I’ve spent four years following dead-end leads. This might be another. Chances are, he’s long gone. But what if he’s not? That what-if is worth it for me to be here. You’re the first person in years who can confirm Cormac’s whereabouts.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered.
Vance offered a kind smile. “I’m sorry. For what he did, I’m sorry.”
Everyone was sorry. I didn’t need pity. What I needed was that son of a bitch rotting in a prison cell.
“Of all the people I’ve shown that photo, no one could tell me definitely yes or no. A few times, I went after a suspect with a similar description but it turned out to be someone else. I’m here because I know Cormac better than anyone alive. And I’d like him to be punished for what he’s done.”
It was like Vance could read my thoughts. The anger burning in my chest gave his voice a razor-sharp edge. “Me too.”
“Look.” He leaned his forearms on the table, those gray-blue irises brightening with intensity. They were so light they were almost clear. Mesmerizing. “I understand if you’d rather not go through it again. You’ve been through enough. But I’d like to hear from you what happened. Ask a few questions if you’re up for it.”
Was I up for it? I took a sip of my tea, the warm liquid easing some of the discomfort in my throat.
Before I’d even made the conscious decision to trust Vance, my mouth opened and the story came pouring out. From Eloise encouraging me to go on a hike, to my panic-fueled drive to the hospital, I gave Vance as many details as I’d given Winn.
My voice was steady. Cold. It was like I was reading a report, not retelling an event in my life. Apparently two days was all it had taken for me to detach from the trauma. Was that good or bad?
When I was finished, silence descended upon the table. A crease formed between Vance’s eyebrows, like he was taking my story and piecing it together with whatever history he had with this Cormac.
“Why did he let me go?” I whispered.
Vance’s gaze snapped to mine. He looked as unsure as I felt. “I don’t know.”
If he really was running from the police, if he really did intend to escape, leaving me alive made no sense. Now I was a witness.
“I have no right to ask this, but I’m going to ask anyway,” he said. “Would you go with me? Show me where this happened?”
My heart seized. “Why?”
“Cormac is not going to be easy to track. It’s why he’s evaded us for so long. The more help you can give me, the better chance I’ll find a trail.”
It should have been an easy no. Vance could sync up with Winn. He could work with the local search and rescue team to explore the area. He didn’t need me as his guide.
And I sure as hell didn’t need to go back there. To relive it in person. The memory was hard enough.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sutter.” I pushed away from the table, and with my tea in hand, I walked to the counter, passing Crystal as I headed straight for the kitchen. My sanctuary.
The moment I was out of sight, I let out the breath I’d been holding. My heart raced as I planted my hands on my prep table, closing my eyes as a wave of nerves made my stomach roil. It was either from telling Vance my story or just the idea of returning to that spot.
Could I go back? Should I?
“Lyla?”
I opened my eyes at my twin sister’s voice, twisting to the door as Talia rushed inside. She was dressed in blue scrubs. Her baby bump was starting to stretch her top. Not by a lot, but enough that you could tell she was pregnant with my future niece or nephew, who I planned to spoil rotten.
“Are you okay?” She tugged at my scarf, pulling it down to inspect my neck.
“Fine.” I waved her off, taking the damn thing off entirely. It was too hot in the kitchen for a scarf. Tomorrow I’d suffer in a turtleneck instead.
“You pushed too hard today.” Talia’s eyebrows knitted together. She wore the same concern she had since Friday. The same expression I saw on every other face in my family.
I shook my head, not wanting to speak. Talking to Vance had zapped my energy, and my throat was raw and ragged.
“Please, Lyla. Go home. You need to rest.”
I shook my head again, giving her a sad smile.
Talia’s shoulders slumped. The corners of her mouth turned down. Her eyes turned glassy but she didn’t let a tear fall.
My sister didn’t cry in front of others. At least, not often. She had this steel, this incredible strength. Whatever tragedy walked through the ER’s doors at the hospital, she took it in stride.
Me? I was the blubbering mess. Show me a sappy video on social media or tell me a sad story, I’d cry a river next to the espresso machine with a crowd of customers around to watch.
Yet here I was, the dry-eyed sister in the room. Meanwhile, Talia looked like she was about to crack.
“Want to talk about it? Or write it out?” she asked. “To save your voice.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Are you sure? It might help.”